


I'm Still Yours

by XxmerthurcatxX



Series: Gallavich Fix It Fics [4]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Boys In Love, Boys being dumb about feelings, Emotionally Repressed, Fix-It, How it should have happened, M/M, Mandy is sick of their shit, Minor Character Death, but it's just mentioned, how it could have happened, nothing graphic, references to injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 19:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17493548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxmerthurcatxX/pseuds/XxmerthurcatxX
Summary: What if Ian left for the army but was honorably discharged after two years with a leg injury? Where does that leave him and Mickey?This one is both a fix it and a "how it could have happened" fic, cause I deviate more from the canon than usual.





	I'm Still Yours

“Come on, I got something I wanna show ya,” Mickey said, smirking. 

Ian reluctantly followed him to his room. He’d been hoping Mickey wasn’t going to be here, but apparently he wasn’t that lucky. Go figure. He glanced around the room, only half listening to whatever Mickey was spouting about his wife. His  _ wife _ . 

“Anyways, she’s working tomorrow night,” Mickey said, taking a few steps toward the redhead. “Why don’t we pick up where we left off?” he asked. “Figure if she’s gonna be out fuckin dudes, why can’t I?”

He took a drag of  his cigarette, arching a brow. Ian smiled, a small, pathetic looking thing as he shook his head. 

“No thanks,” he said quietly. 

Mickey wasn’t deterred, blowing out the smoke and grinning as he gave Ian an up down. 

“Hmm, hard to gets gettin me hard Gallagher,” he teased. 

Ian swallowed. It would be so easy to fall back into what they had. Mickey was in good 

spirits despite everything that went down. Then again, he always was when he thought he might get a fuck out of it. Ian reminded himself of why he was ending it in the first place. He wanted more and Mickey couldn’t... _ wouldn’t _ , give it.  

“I’m leaving town,” he said. “Joining the army.” 

Mickey laughed, circling around the bed to light another cigarette. 

“Ah, right. You gotta be eighteen,” he said knowingly. 

“Yeah I, uh, figured a way around that,” Ian said, fiddling with the zipper on his hoodie. 

Mickey blinked at him, his usually smirk falling from his face. Oh shit, he was serious. The kid was actually gonna go. 

“That’s a dumbass fucking move,” he spat. “How long?”

Ian shrugged. 

“Four years. Minimum.”

Mickey open and closed his mouth a few times but nothing came out. The hell was he supposed to say?

“What are you hoping, I tell you not to go?” he asked, “I’m gonna chase after you like some bitch?”

His words were harsh but the tremor in his voice betrayed how he actually felt. He sounded vulnerable, something Ian hadn’t been expecting, but he squared his shoulders and stood his ground. It didn’t change anything. 

“I love you,” he said.

Mickey’s eyes shot up, locking with his. Ian didn’t miss the way his bottom lip was trembling. 

“I love you,” he said again, taking a step toward Mickey. “And I used to think that you loved me too and maybe you still do, but I can’t do this anymore Mick. I can’t sit around waiting for you to call me on the nights your wife is working. I can’t spend anymore nights laying awake wondering if I matter to you. I...I can’t,” Ian said, bringing his hand to rest against Mickey’s cheek, surprised with the other boy didn’t try to push him away. Instead he brought his hand up to curl around Ian’s wrist, holding him in place. 

“Gallagher...I-I can’t just...don’t,” he breathed, voice cracking. 

Ian brushed away a tear that had slid down the other boy’s cheek. 

“Don’t what?” he asked. Would Mickey say it? Would it change anything if he did? 

Mickey opened his mouth but he couldn't get the words out.  _ Don’t go _ , jesus fuck, how hard was that so say? Come on! Fucking say it! But he couldn’t make his mouth work. Ian sighed, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to Mickey’s forehead. 

“Goodbye Mick,” he whispered, pulling his hand free from Mickey’s grip and walking out of the room, shattering Mickey’s heart into a million pieces. 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Four years turned out to be two and a half, ending with Ian being honorably discharged with a leg wound. He’d spent weeks in the hospital getting patched up, followed by months of rehab as he learned how to walk again on his janked up leg. It’s was fine for the most part, aside from the slight limp he had when he walked now. But whatever, at least they saved the leg. 

Despite Fiona’s protests he ended up getting a place of his own. It was a shithole, but it was his shithole and he’d take living in the tiny apartment alone than being cramped in one room with his brother’s any day. Not like he didn’t love them, but he was too old for that shit. 

He took a job at a coffee shop on the north side of Chicago. It wasn’t too bad of a train ride from where he lived and rich people tipped pretty well. At least that’s what he told Lip when he asked why he’d taken a job so far out of his way. 

“Really? Are you sure it’s not because you’re trying to avoid a certain ex boyfriend-

“He wasn’t my boyfriend,” Ian interjected. 

“Whatever. You’re trying to avoid him and you know it. It’s honestly impressive that you’ve made it this long without running into him,” Lip said, offering his brother a hit of the joint he was smoking. 

Ian was taking a long drag when there was a loud knock at the door. 

“I’ll get it,” Lip said, leaping to his feet and running for the door. Ian frowned. That was odd. Lip returned a minute later...with Mandy Milkovich in tow. 

She made a bee line for Ian, punching him hard in the arm before dragging him into a hug so tight he couldn’t breathe. 

“Jeez, Mandy, air, need air,” he choked. 

Mandy pulled away, landing another punch. 

“You fucking prick! Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you were back? It’s not like I’m your best friend or anything. Oh wait, yes I fucking am!”

Ian put his hands up defensively. 

“Sorry! I should have called. I’m sorry,” he conceded. 

“You’re goddamn right you should have, or did you forget you have other people around here who care about you besides your fucked up family?” she asked, crossing her arms. 

Ian shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Mandy sighed, plunking down on the couch next to Lip and stealing his beer. 

“I take it Mickey doesn’t know,” she said casually. 

Ian shook his head. 

“No. He won’t care anyway. Pretty sure he hates my guts,” he mumbled. 

Mandy laughed. 

“Lip, what do you think? Do you think my brother hates Ian’s guts?” she asked. 

Lip looked squirrely, like he couldn’t decide between answering and jumped out the nearest window. 

“I think...uh, I think you should see for yourself man,” Lip said, taking a long sip of beer to avoid having to say anything else. 

“Am I missing something here?” Ian asked. 

Mandy rolled her eyes, stealing Ian’s phone off the table and typing something into his notes. 

“There, that’s his address. Go. Now. Before I kick your ass for being such a pussy,” she commanded. 

“Wait. He moved?”

“You’ve been gone a long time dude,” Lip reminded him. 

Ian shifted from foot to foot, wincing when he put too much pressure on his bad leg. 

“What if he doesn’t want to see me?” he asked. 

Mandy got to her feet, looping an arm through Ian’s and steering him toward the door, giving him a light shove out into the hallway. She leaned up and kissed his cheek. 

“Just go okay? And, whatever happens, be gentle. Mickey would never admit it, but he’s had a rough few years,” she told him. 

Ian nodded, glancing at the address on his phone. It was too far actually. Just a few blocks over. Despite the ache in his leg he decided to walk. He could use the fresh air and the time to clear his head. Plus it wasn’t dark yet so he was less likely to get jumped. He hadn’t forgotten he was in south side.

He took his time, passing familiar shops and houses as he went. He paused for a minute when he reached the baseball diamond at the high school. The dugout. His lip twitched into a small smile as he remembered the time he and Mickey had met here when he’d gotten out of juvie. Mickey had been eager to get fucked after spending nearly a year behind bars. Ian shivered, remembering the way Mickey had arched back against him, one hand snaking back to grip at Ian’s ass to pull him in faster. It was one of the few times Mickey really let himself go when they banged. 

Ian reluctantly made his way to Mickey’s new digs. He was still surprised he’d moved. The building looked like most south side apartments; old as fuck brick building, not special. The elevator was out of order, go fucking figure, so he had to take the stairs. He really hoped Mickey didn’t slam the door in his face cause he needed to sit down and rest his leg. He stared at the door to apartment 303, took a deep breath and knocked. 

There was no response. 

He frowned and tried again, knocking a little harder this time. 

“Yeah, cool your fucking jets, I’m coming!” a voice cried from inside. 

Ian smiled. New apartment, same trash talking boy he’d fallen for all those years ago. The door flew open to reveal a frazzled looking Mickey, balancing a toddler on his hip. Mickey’s eyes widened in recognition.

“ _ Ian _ ,” he breathed. 

The redhead smiled nervously. 

“Hey Mick.”

For a second they just stood there, staring at each other, neither sure what to say. Ian’s leg was beginning to shake from exertion. It wasn’t usually this bad. He blamed his anxiety about this whole situation for making it worse. 

“Look if you’re gonna slam the door in my face can you do it soon? And if not, can I come in. I-I really need to sit down,” Ian said, feeling embarrassed. Mickey didn’t know about the leg, so he knew the request probably sounded weird. 

Mickey wordlessly stepped out of the way, allowing Ian to step into his apartment. It was small, but still bigger than Ian’s and definitely nicer. Gone were the vulgar posters and empty beer cans all over the place. It was actually...clean. Ian plunked himself down of the couch, which wasn’t full of holes and falling apart like the one at Mickey’s Dad’s had been. He stretched his leg out in front of him, grimacing. 

“I’m gonna put Yev to bed. Was trying to when you go here,” Mickey said, not waiting for a response before he headed off down the hall, cradling his half asleep son.  _ His son _ , Ian thought. Mickey had a son. Mickey had a wife. He’d almost forgotten. God, why did he let Mandy talk him into this? Before he could even think about making an escape Mickey was back, collapsing into the armchair opposite Ian and rubbing his eyes tiredly. 

“So...that’s your kid huh?” Ian asked, not really knowing where to start. 

Mickey sent him a look that said,  _ obviously _ . 

“Yevgeny. Lana named him, I didn’t get a fucking say,” he grunted. 

Ian glanced around the room, as if he expected the aforementioned wife to pop out of nowhere. 

“Speaking of your wife, where is she?” he asked. 

“Dead.”

Ian’s eyes widened. 

“Dead? How? W-when?” 

Mickey shrugged. 

“About a year ago. Cancer. This was her apartment. I, uh, moved in here after she died,” he explained. 

“I’m sorry,” Ian said. 

Mickey shook his head. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about her, but it wasn’t something he liked to talk about. 

Ian frowned. Last he knew Svetlana was a hooker. No way she could afford an apartment like this and have enough to feed her kid. Mickey sighed, as if reading Ian’s thoughts. 

“A lot of shit when down after you left. I can get into it if you want, or we can talk about how the hell you’re here right now.”

Right. That. Ian turned to face Mickey more fully, grunting when he twisted his leg wrong. Jesus, what was wrong with him? He was usually more careful than this. For fuck sake he worked in a coffee shop, on his feet all day and it never bothered him this much. He remembered what his physical therapist said. It would take time. There would still be bad days. In time it wouldn’t hurt at all, but that was still a long way off. 

“I was honorably discharged,” he said quickly. 

Mickey’s eyebrows shot up and hit mouth dropped open before he schooled his features. 

“You...you got injured?” he asked, biting his bottom lip. 

Ian nodded. 

“Yeah. Shrapnel. Tore up my leg pretty bad. I-I mean it’s fine, I can still walk and everything.”

“Does it hurt?” Mickey asked, fingers tugging at a hole in his jeans. 

“Sometimes. A lot today. I’m not sure why,” Ian admitted. 

Mickey nodded, staring at his hands. Silence fell between them again. Ian wasn’t sure what to do. What was he even expecting from this visit? It’s not like anything was different between them. Ian jumped when Mickey let out a frustrated groan, getting to his feet and pacing back and forth, running his hands through his hair. 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Mickey blurted. 

“I know Mick. I’m sorry. I can go. I can-

“T-that’s not what I...dammit, I was supposed to have two more years!”

Ian’s brow furrowed. Okay, now he was totally lost. 

“Two more years to what?” he asked. 

“To get my shit together! To get a place out of south side like I know you want. To...to be someone better. But, no, you fucking ruined it. You came back too soon and I’m still the same piece of shit you left behind,” Mickey said. His voice was controlled, as he was wary that his son was sleeping in the next room, but it was clear he wanted to scream. 

Ian gaped at him, getting to his feet despite the ache in his leg and crossing the room toward Mickey. The shorter boy pressed a hand to Ian’s chest to keep him at a distance. 

“Don’t. I-if you didn’t want me back then, you don’t want me now. I haven’t changed,” he said quietly, voice shaking. 

Ian shook his head. 

“I never wanted you to change,” he said honestly. Mickey’s head shot up, eyes wide when they met Ian’s. 

“But...you left. You didn’t want me,” Mickey said, genuinely mistified. 

“I wanted you Mickey. I wanted you so bad it hurt. But you didn’t want me as much as I wanted you. Or maybe you did, I don’t know. I never knew because you never told me. That’s all I wanted. I wanted to know that I mattered to you. That I was more than an outlet for you to fuck away all your problems with.”

Mickey’s eyes were swimming with unshed tears now. He bumped his forehead against Ian’s chest, hiding his face in embarrassment. 

“And now?” the thug whispered. “Do you still want that now?”

Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey’s back, holding him impossibly close. 

“I do. I’m yours Mick. Every single part of me, belongs to you. It always has. Since that first time. Ya know, after I threatened you with a tire iron,” Ian joked, trying to lighten the mood. It worked as Mickey laughed into his chest, pulling back to look at him. 

“I’m yours too,” he admitted, cheeks tinged red as he fiddled with the collar of Ian’s shirt. “You’re under my skin man, what the fuck can I do?” 

Ian slid his hand around the back of Mickey’s neck, thumb brushing just under his ear and making the older boy shudder. They had more to talk about. So much more. But it was enough for now. Enough to know that Mickey was his. 

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a sequel to this one that smutty, I promise ;)


End file.
